


One Night

by pauraque



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anonymity Roleplay, Community: hphet, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:59:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11216178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: It's a night to be someone else.





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rozarka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 [HPHet](http://hphet.dreamwidth.org) minifest, to Rozarka's prompt: _An established couple meet 'by chance' in a bar and have a pretend one-night stand with each other. Just for fun._
> 
> Thank you to [Hannelore](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hannelore) for going above and beyond in helping me get this done on time!

Walking up to the entrance of the pub, Draco glances in a car window to check the angle of his new hat. In his sharp, sleek suit and tie he could pass for one of the men he sees round the Muggle office buildings when he flies that way, and he imagines himself now as one of them. Some businessman just stopping off for a pint before another lonely evening — or hoping it won't be so lonely after all.

His heartbeat picks up as he slides in the door past a man and woman quickly leaving (it's the time of night and the type of pub where couples often make quick exits) and takes in the room. Low lights, pulsing music he's never heard before, and the scent of smoke and liquor.

It's crowded, but he still spots Astoria right off despite her being in new clothes and facing away from him, perched on a seat at the bar. He reminds himself he's not meant to be looking for anyone in particular, and lets his gaze course over a few other women as though he might fancy any of them, picking out their brightly-coloured outfits like tropical birds among the drabber men.

But it's not hard to imagine that he'd instantly be drawn to her, this blonde in a blue backless dress, hair done up in chopsticks, long pretty legs crossed elegantly as she sips her drink. There's an open seat beside her, and surely any businessman would take that deal; you don't always get a second chance at a woman like that.

As he sidles his way over, he sees her catch the eye of some lanky bloke with a beard, and smile at him. Jealousy thrills through Draco's body, but tonight she's not his wife; tonight she could be anyone, could belong to anyone. He quickens his pace but not too much (women in pubs don't want desperate men) and manages to snag the empty seat.

He orders a pint, and at the sound of his voice, she turns. Not too quickly... making him wait for it. Her lips curl into an appraising half-smile. "Hi," Astoria says, sounding a bit airy and unlike herself — perhaps the near-empty drink between her hands is not her first.

"How do you do," says Draco, smiling back and noticing the pale line round her finger where her wedding ring isn't.

"Wretched weather tonight," she says, though it isn't particularly. 

"Horrible," he agrees. There's a strand of hair that's escaped from behind her ear. Were they themselves, he would reach up and idly tuck it back for her. His fingers twitch with muscle memory. He nods toward her glass. "May I buy you another?"

"Maybe I've had enough. I'm starting to have funny thoughts about strange men." She laughs. He hesitates before he does too, not sure if she's serious. "You're staring a bit. Is my mascara smudged?"

"No," he says, trying not to think too hard about his words, to let them fall where they will, "just looking at your eyes. They're very pretty. Like sapphires."

She lets out a low, smoky chuckle. "You'll strain yourself trying that hard." Gives his leg a teasing nudge with the toe of her shoe. "Is that all you like about me? My eyes?"

An uncontrollable grin spreads over his face because there are _so very many_ things he likes about Astoria, inside and out. But tonight's about outside, isn't it?

"I may have noticed a few other things," he says, letting himself glance down at the curve of her breasts, the dip of her cleavage. Trying to see her as if for the first time. He wonders what it's going to be like to pretend he doesn't already know her body, and for her to act as though she doesn't know his. Both nervous and eager, he shifts in arousal.

She stifles a giggle that turns into an adorable little snort. "You really think you're something, don't you? Talking to a girl like that?" She recrosses her legs, and gives a little something away in how she presses them together.

His mouth wants to say _You started it_ as they always say to each other when play-fighting, but he has to find other words, new words, not the comfortable wheel-ruts of five years of marriage. 

"I wouldn't if I didn't think you were the kind of girl who liked it," he manages at last, allowing himself a bit of a smirk.

She lets out a delighted half-laugh, half-shout. "Cheeky bastard! As if you know what kind of girl I am."

"I think I've some idea." With just enough hesitation to make it plausible, he reaches over and touches her bare knee, traces his fingertips slowly up to the hem of her dress. She gasps and bites her lip, expression caught between shock and pleasure.

He thinks he can feel other people's eyes upon them, judging her, judging him. His breath is coming quicker, heart pounding, his trousers starting to get tight. "Tell me I'm wrong," he says.

Her voice comes out hoarse. "I wouldn't go that far."

He's leaning in closer, letting his touch slide towards her inner thigh. "How far would you go?"

She closes her eyes; he sees her shiver. With his other hand, he tucks that stray lock behind her ear, feeling at last the familiar softness of his wife's hair.

He whispers in her ear: "Let's get out of here."


End file.
